


The Case of the Bunny Suicides

by Jupiter_Ash



Series: A Tail of Two Bunnies [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animals, Gen, Rabbits, not as cracky as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:50:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiter_Ash/pseuds/Jupiter_Ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John as rabbits.  No, seriously.  Well, when I say seriously....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Bunny Suicides

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trillsabells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trillsabells/gifts).



> I wrote this last August for Trillsabells' birthday present. Since she's given me permission to share it I thought it was time to dig it out, dust it off and actually get it posted.
> 
> Any mistakes are all mine.

He was cold and wet and more alone than he had ever been in his life. Was this what death felt like then? Not for him the warm fading of old age, but instead the cold, sharp pain of abandonment. Was it something he had done? Something he hadn’t done?

He inched forward, crying out as pain shot through his body. This was it, the end. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t fight. He could barely move at all. He was literally sitting prey, just waiting to die or to be killed.

He hobbled forward, knowing it was futile, but something inside him refused to simply give up. He was not about to simply lie down. He was a Watson, from a long line of Watsons. They were fighters.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way, not battered and half drowned, alone and abandoned. It wasn’t, it just wasn’t.

He dragged himself on.

The bushes, as long as he cleared the bushes he might be alright, he might be found, or there might simply be nothing. Nothing but this endless pain. This fear. This horror.

He pushed on.

What would he give to be at home, in the dry, in the warmth, even injured as he was. To die at home would be better than dying here. Nearly anything would be better than dying here. Well, ish.

He shuffled further.

He was nearly there, nearly through and then finally. He screamed as he fell against something hard, pain shooting through his body. Oh god, the pain, the pain. It was never ending, never ceasing and he had nothing more to give. He could barely keep his eyes open, could barely keep breathing. He wanted to sleep, no, he needed to sleep.

He closed his eyes.

Then he felt it. The hands on his body, picking him up and he cried out as his leg was knocked. The last thing he heard was his rescuer’s voice shouting out, “Dad! Dad! I’ve found a rabbit!”

*

**A Tail of Two Bunnies  
The Case of the Bunny Suicides**

*

“How are you feeling?”

How was he feeling? Such a simple question and yet it required such a remarkable answer.

How was he feeling? Well, to start with, he was feeling alive. That was a surprise, and after that everything else was pretty much a bonus. And what a bonus it was. He was dry, he was clean, his pain was barely noticeable compared to before, he could smell food and water and bedding, and more than that, he was no longer alone.

The first time he had woken up it was to find that he was in a new home, warm and safe. That was as far as he got before closing his eyes and drifting back to dreaming about hopping through meadows and eating giant dandelions.

The second time he woke up it was to a human – scent unrecognisable but familiar in that it was all around him - gently stroking his fur before picking him up to check his leg. Apparently they had fixed it. He had no idea how, but they were human, they were good at that.

Now he was awake for the third time and he felt surprisingly good. He was also decidedly not alone.

A pretty, brown doe was sitting watching him. He couldn’t smell her particularly well, which meant she was probably on the other side of some sort of barrier. In another lifetime she might have been the sort of doe he would have gone for, but if the residual pain in his leg was anything to go by, that time was gone. There was no reason why he couldn’t be friendly though.

“Uh, fine,” he said, wincing as he put some weight on his front leg. Apparently it wasn’t quite as better as he had hoped.

“That’s good,” the pretty doe said. “You certainly look better than you did when they first brought you in.” She wiggled her nose for a moment as if remembering. He supposed he would have looked rather a state at first, all wet and dirty and bloody, but that was all gone now. “They’ll be releasing you soon, I’d say.”

He reared back automatically at that, his ears pricking up in alarm.

“Release?” he said. “Releasing me?”

He couldn’t go back out there. He just couldn’t. He wouldn’t last one week out there. Hadn’t he already proven that?

“Stand down, soldier, not release, release, just release from here. They’ll be moving you to the Sanctuary soon.”

“The Sanctuary? What’s the Sanctuary?”

The doe looked rather pleased with herself. “The best place imaginable,” she said, “and your new home.”

*

True to the doe’s word, it was only a few more days before apparently the time had come for him to leave the warm safety of his temporary home. His leg had healed up nicely and most of the pain was now gone. He was never going to be able to run or dig like he had in the past, but he could hobble at least. That was something. He had to believe it was something at least or else he would give in to the urge to curl up in a fluffy ball and not move again. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t fight, but that didn’t mean he was useless. At least that’s what the doe told him. He just had to try and believe it.

He asked her about the Sanctuary, desperate to get as many details as possible. She told him he had to see it to believe it, but he did manage to get out of her that there was plenty of food, long grass and things to do. There were also a lot of other rabbits. Hundreds in fact.

Hundreds? He couldn’t imagine. The most he had been around in one go was about a dozen, and that was when he had been a very small kit and most of them had been his siblings. Hundreds was simply too much for his brain to handle. He would, honestly, just have to wait and see.

It all came round rather fast, and after being put into some sort of box, he found himself in a brave new world. A brave new world with such rabbits in it.

He could smell them, hundreds of them. Young and old, male and female, strong and weak. It was almost overwhelming. It was… intimidating.

It took him a little while just to pluck up the courage to leave the box, to stick his nose out. Part of him wanted to retreat, to stay where he was. That would be the logical thing to do. After all, what would he be able to offer those out there? And who said they would like him? And what if he upset one of them? He couldn’t run away, he couldn’t fight-

No wait, he was a Watson, he could do this.

He left the box, paused, sniffed around, hobbled forward, sniffed some more, tried not to be overwhelmed by all the smells, all the new scents, all the unfamiliar things. He could do this. He twitched his nose in determination. He would do this.

“John? John Watson?”

He started as seemingly from nowhere a large brown and white buck appeared, a little frayed around the ears but in otherwise in good health and rather larger all round than he was.

“Stamford,” the buck said rather enthusiastically. “Mike Stamford. We were at the shop together.”

Mike Stamford? Little Mike Stamford? He had a faint recollection of a skinny, jolly, bouncy young kit, who, he had to admit, even then had quite liked his food.

“Yeah, I know,” Stamford continued, “I got fat. Oh aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. What are you doing here? This is a place for the lost and abandoned. Last I knew you were being adopted by that lovely family. What happened?”

He tried not to look away as he quietly said, “I got abandoned.”

*

Mike was a typical Stamford, friendly, well-meaning but always able to do or say something wrong. He found this wasn’t totally a bad thing. For one it meant he now had someone he knew, which made the whole thing somewhat less overwhelming, and secondly as friends went, Mike wasn’t too bad.

Mike’s story wasn’t particularly surprising. He had been picked by a family not long after he himself had been. He’d been taken to a new home, given plenty of food to eat, had got on well with Pebble and Dashing, the two guinea pigs, until one day he’d got into a bit of a mess with the cat and he’d been brought here soon after, and here he’d been ever since.

“It’s pretty good, actually,” Mike said with some enthusiasm between munching on a long piece of grass. “Plenty of space, lots to eat, grass, dirt, play things and lots of company if that’s what you want.”

Mike also showed him around – slowly of course considering that at best he could still only just manage a medium paced hobble. There was a lot to see and he had to admit, the food was indeed good.

“I know it won’t be what you’re used to,” Mike continued as they shared a radish, “but you’ll get used to it and you’ll figure it all out rather quickly.”

“What about, you know, sleeping?” he asked.

“Plenty of places,” Mike said. “I’m sure you’ll find somewhere. And you could always find someone to share with.”

Yeah right. A battered, injured, pretty useless rabbit unable to do either the digging or the guarding. “Come on,” he said seriously, “who’d want me for a burrow-mate?”

Mike laughed. “You’d be surprised. Come on, I’ll introduce you around.”

The place was huge and it just seemed to get bigger. He said hello to a number of new acquaintances, but Mike didn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. There was always something new to show him, or someone else to introduce him to.

“And of course there’s a hierarchy, but generally those at the top will leave you alone provided you leave them alone,” Mike continued. “That area at the far end, that’s their place. You’ve pretty much got to have an invite to get in there. Oh and keep away from the grasses over there. Odd bunch, best to just give them space and….”

He was cut off by a black streak that bolted past them, screaming in rage as it went. He had never seen any rabbit move that fast or scream that loud, but today seemed to be a day of firsts. From what he could determine it had something to do with a hole or a burrow or an experiment of some sort and that was about it.

“Who?” he asked as soon as his ears had recovered.

“Sherlock Holmes,” Mike said casually as if this sort of thing happened often. “And yes,” he continued, “he’s always like that.” 

Right.

*

It would be another couple of days before he came across the black screaming bunny again, although this time there was less screaming. He wasn’t, however, any less black up close. He did, however, appear to be sulking.

“Uh, hello,” John ventured as he shuffled into the black bunny’s area.

A dark head was lifted towards him and he was fixed with a startlingly intense stare. He shifted awkwardly, the other rabbit’s stare shifting briefly to his legs before the head lowered again.

“So you’re the new buck,” the black bunny said with almost a sigh. “Cat or a fox?”

He twitched his nose nervously. “Sorry?” he asked.

The head lifted to look at him again. “Your leg, which was it,” he was asked again, “a cat or a fox?”

“A uh, fox,” he said. “Sorry, how did you-”

“You’ll do,” the other rabbit declared.

He really was confused now. “Do?” he asked. “Do for what?”

“Guarding of course,” the other rabbit said. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? For your information, I’m rude, demanding and sometimes I don’t move for days, potential burrow-mates should know the worst about each other, don’t you think?”

“Burrow-mates?” he asked. “Who said anything about burrow-mates?”

“You did,” the other rabbit said, “or at least you will, when the idea dawns on you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

“No?” the eyes narrowed. “Interesting. Let me speed it up for you. You’re a recent acquisition into this would-be paradise of ours, but before that you lived with one other rabbit – probably a litter mate – and possibly a guinea pig, short haired, until one or both of them died. You were then given away by your first owner and then abandoned by your second once they realised you were not everything they wanted. You survived two days on your own before you got into a fight with a fox, or more likely a cub, but impressive none-the-less for the fact you survived. You were rescued, healed and brought here where you miss the companionship that you once had and since you’re unable to dig your own burrow due to your injury – which isn’t nearly as bad as you think it is by the way – you will instead seek out a burrow-mate who can do the digging and offer them what you can in return. Obviously, given my history and most recent setback, I am the most logical buck for you to ask.”

That was… that was… he had no words for what that was.

“Sherlock!”

And then they were interrupted by a good sized silver and grey buck, a few years older than them, physically fit but with a weary tone to his voice.

“Lestrade,” the other buck said getting to his feet. “I want my burrow back.”

The other buck sighed. “You know I can’t do that, Sherlock. Anderson claimed it fair and square and-”

“Anderson stole it from me,” the black buck said sharply moving up to be almost nose to nose with the silver buck. “It was mine. I want it back.”

“And you can’t have it back,” the silver buck said, his ears twitching slightly. “You know the rules. He has greater need for it than you do.”

The black buck let off a disgruntled whine. 

“No, don’t do that,” the silver buck said quickly. “You know it’s true. There’s two of them.”

“But it was mine. I claimed it. I was digging it. It was mine,” the black buck claimed.

“Well, there are plenty more you can have.”

“No, there are not,” the black buck said. “I had to have that one. It was important. I needed it.”

The black buck moved forward, making himself seem bigger, but the silver buck didn’t back down. 

“Well tough,” the silver buck said. “And don’t bother with the intimidation, you know it won’t work. Why don’t you go and find a new place, you’ll be able to dig a new burrow in no time.”

“There isn’t another place.”

“Sherlock,” the silver buck said in a warning tone.

“Alright, fine,” the black buck said backing down slightly. “I won’t forget this though. And you can tell his high and mighty that as well.”

“Yes, fine,” the silver buck said. “Just promise me you’ll stay away from Anderson and Donovan.”

The black buck made a sharp noise and went back to his sulking. The silver buck sighed and then hopped away when he realised he would get nothing more out of the black buck.

“What was that about?” John asked, but there was no immediate answer from the black buck, instead he was fixed with a pointed stare before the other rabbit turned to slowly hop away.

“Tomorrow, after second feed, meet me by the second hay hutch by the fence.” And with that he was gone. 

John stared after him, then raised his leg to scratch behind his ear. Tomorrow, he thought as he scratched. Right.

*

There were rules here. It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out, but bumping into the wrong rabbit was apparently a bad thing.

“Hey, watch it, cripple.” The rabbit was large, with big teeth and a mean expression, not helped by the jagged scar across his face.

He backed away quickly, not wanting to get into a fight – especially a fight he had no chance of winning – and lowered his head. The large, scarred rabbit growled at him, but fortunately moved on.

Hmmm, he thought, maybe he really should take that Holmes buck up on his offer. Having a burrow-mate would be good. It would mean he wouldn’t have to watch his back so much and he seemed interesting at least. Interesting was good.

Leaving Mike to doze in the sun after two large meals and some instruction on burrow building to some younger rabbits, he decided to set out for the hay hutch Holmes had referred to. At least by leaving early he could take his time and maybe see some more of the sights. It was still odd seeing so many rabbits around, but for the most part it was pleasant as well. There were some rather pretty does around too. Maybe he’d be able to make some new friends, well, after he’d established himself a bit.

He got to the hutch in plenty of time and since he had nothing else to do, decided to sit down and rest.

“Ah, there you are.”

Scrambling to his feet he realised that he hadn’t even heard the Holmes buck appear.

“Well, come along then,” the black rabbit said before hopping off with large casual strides.

He followed behind as best he could trying to figure out where he was being taken to, but realised quite quickly that it wasn’t an obvious answer, not with the black rabbit slipping between the long grass and darting around objects. He was just about to ask if they had to go much further – his leg was starting to hurt again – when the black rabbit stopped, looked around and then darted through a small gap in the foliage and disappeared. John blinked for a moment, looked around and then, deciding that there was nothing for it, followed him.

Behind was dirt, a little grass and the fence that marked the edge of their home. It wasn’t particularly descript, or pretty, or anything really, but it had potential. It also had a rather proud looking black rabbit sitting in what appeared to be the beginnings of a burrow. It wasn’t the best of beginnings, but it was a start he supposed.

“So, what do you think?”

“It could be nice,” he said generously as he looked around. Okay, yeah, there was a limitation to the space, what with the plants and the fence, but there was dirt to dig in and it wasn’t too far to the food. Also it was unlikely that anyone else would want it. “Very nice indeed. Is that, is that a hole you’re sitting in?”

“The beginnings of one,” the black buck said quickly as he jumped to his feet and scratched away at some more of the dirt. “It will be better of course, once I’ve had the chance to get going on it properly. You know.”

“No, no,” he said quickly knocking a stray leaf away from his face with his nose, “it’s fine. It’s all fine. Might be a bit cosy at first though.”

“I’m a fast digger,” the black rabbit said, “or at least I am when I put my mind to it. Did you know there are eleven different types of soil in this place and this is one of the best to tunnel in? Deep, John, we’ll be able to go deep and then who knows what might happen.”

Deep? Right. “You do remember I’m not going to be able to help with much of the digging. You know, my leg.”

“We’ll cope,” he was told. “And what’s a little soft soil compared to a fox cub.”

He shifted awkwardly, a flash of pain going through his leg as he remember how close he had come to being a dead rabbit.

“Yes, how did you know about that?” he asked.

Again the black buck didn’t have the chance to answer as out of nowhere came the sound of a high pitched scream. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. And Sherlock Holmes, the black bolt, was off again, out of their new little home, shouting at him to follow as he went.

He followed, although it took him considerably longer, but it wasn’t hard to figure out where Holmes had disappeared to.

There was a crowd, and by the crowd a very familiar black buck talking animatedly with the silver and grey buck from the day before.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Holmes was saying, his ears pinned back as he moved his head from side to side. “It was quite obviously murder. Can’t you smell the ivy? Someone put it in her food, mixed it in so she didn’t notice, and that’s what killed her.”

“It could have simply been an accident,” the silver and grey buck said. “She could have thought it was something else.”

“You mean she could have mistaken it for a dandelion?”

The silver and grey buck looked on helplessly. “Well, she could have done,” he said.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he heard the black rabbit say. “Use your nose, this isn’t the first time. This is the fourth death now. This isn’t an accident. It’s not suicide. This is murder. That has got to be obvious, even to you.”

Murder? The fourth? Mike hadn’t said anything about that to him. He had mentioned those who got sick or injured were taken away – although not all returned – and then of course there were those who were adopted. But murderer? That was a huge thing.

“Who? Why?” the silver and grey buck managed with a helpless twitch of his nose.

“What’s the pattern?” the black buck said. “Who would benefit from the murderers?”

“But they’re random,” the silver and grey buck said. “Just random deaths, nothing more.”

“Nothing is random. Everything happens for a purpose and-” Holmes stopped, his nose and ears suddenly pointing upwards. “Humans!” he said and that was it.

Everyone scrammed. It was like a sudden rush, bunnies of all shapes and colours bolting away from where the dead rabbit was. John did the only sensible thing he could do, he found the nearest thick clump of unoccupied grass, and hid. It meant he could just about see the human breaking into their home and lifting out the deceased rabbit – a Czech red it looked like – and take the rabbit away.

Crouched down he waited.

Poison, Holmes had said. Ivy? How had ivy got into their home? Surely the humans wouldn’t have allowed it. Which meant, if it was ivy, and he was pretty sure that Holmes was right on that score, then how had it got in and been eaten? And not the first poisoning either? What was going on here?

He waited a little longer until other rabbits started appearing. Inching forward, he poked his nose out, waited, poked his head out, looked around and not finding anything he shouldn’t crawled his way out.

Right, what to do now?

Turning, he slowly started to make his way back to the beginnings of the burrow that Holmes had been showing him before all the excitement. He had nowhere else to go, after all, and there was a chance that Holmes would be there.

He was right in fact; Holmes was there, lying in the hole, stretched out, on his back, eyes closed in some kind of trance. That was… weird. He waited for a moment, but there was no reaction. He shuffled in closer and let out a soft squeak. One eye opened and then, after a pause, Holmes flipped himself over onto his front.

“You alright?” he asked, looking the other rabbit over critically. Now he was on his front he looked alright, but he could be totally wrong.

“Thinking,” Holmes said dismissively.

Right. “And being on your back helps does it?”

“Evidently,” Holmes said, stretched out further, lowered his head to his paws and closed his eyes again.

John stared. Right. Okay. Well, what was he supposed to do now? He sat back on his hunches. His leg was starting to ache again. All the running around – okay, hobbling around – he had been doing today hadn’t helped it. What he would give for a sit down, some hay, or even better a dandelion or a nice piece of apple, and a little bit of grooming. He had a feeling though that he wasn’t going to get any of those things any time soon. Well, maybe he’ll get to sit down since Holmes was obviously not going anywhere. The question was, should he make himself comfortable here or bounce awkwardly off to somewhere else. It hadn’t been that much earlier that Holmes had been asking – no, presuming – him to become his burrow-mate, but did he still mean it? And there wasn’t that much room here. Then again, Holmes hadn’t exactly been surprised to see him, nor had he been sent away.

He pushed some of the foliage away with his nose – although he did nibble on a nice long leaf of grass – and settled in, lying down.

He was just getting himself all nice and relaxed when he realised that Holmes was now watching him.

“Fox cub,” Holmes said, his head lifting from his paws.

“Uh, yes,” he said, almost sure they were talking about his leg. 

“Fox cub. Ivy. Of course!” Holmes shot upright. “They all saw something that they shouldn’t have so they had to go. They have a way out!”

“They?”

“Yes. They. The dark ones. The other lot. But where? Where is their exit? Oh, of course. How stupid of me.”

John really was lost now.

“Missed what was right in front of me. New scar. They’ve hidden it!” 

And then, with an enraged squeak, Holmes shot off – again, he certainly made a habit of it – and disappeared into the bushes. Right, John thought, turning to stare in the direction the black buck had gone in. Right.

He sat back down on his hunches and once again wondered what he should do. He could stay here, he thought, turning his head to nibble on a nearby piece of grass, or he could go back to Mike and see what he was doing – or eating – or he could go and explore, provided of course he didn’t bump into those scary rabbits again, especially the one with the scar.

He bolted upright. The one with the scar? The one who looked like he had gone a couple of rounds with a cat or a dog… or a fox? Which would mean he would have had to have got the scars out there, out in the wild, just as he had. He could have got them before he had come here, but there hadn’t been the neat healing that came with human interference. Which meant… Holmes was in trouble.

Holy fields of golden dandelions!

Yelping, he ran out of their patch, hesitated as to where Holmes might have gone, and then headed in the direction Mike had told him to keep away from. If he was wrong then he might be putting himself into danger. But if he was right, then Holmes could well be in a life threatening situation. The idiot!

How big was this place?

Panting, he forced himself to keep moving. He could see and smell so many other bunnies, but not Holmes. Yet. Keep moving, Watson. Keep moving. Where was he? Where was he?

There!

Reaching the top of the ridge, he stopped and looked down. There he was, a skinny black shape surrounded by four much larger, much meaner looking bucks.

Oh the idiot! He wasn’t backing down. Ears back, wide stance, they were all ready for a fight. Holmes was going to fight all four of them and they would rip him to pieces within moments. Idiot. Idiot! And there was no one else who was going to help him.

Letting out an enraged scream, he bolted down the ridge, past the other rabbits, through the boundaries that marked the other territory and onward, until finally…

He leapt.

His body slammed into the first buck just as the rabbit went to attack Holmes. The flight through the air felt endless, but then they were crashing to the ground, him on top, his opponent screaming beneath him. A swift kick to the head and his opponent stopped screaming, stopped wiggling as well. Was he dead? No, merely unconscious. Well that was good, but not yet enough.

Leaping off, he turned, ears pinned back, teeth bared. Whatever pause his surprise attack had created disappeared in that instant and suddenly there was movement, lots of movement.

He barely had time to move before the next buck was on him. He just avoided the initial swipe and then they both pounced. He had never fought another rabbit before, not properly at least as scuffles with his siblings hardly counted, but he had survived an encounter with a fox cub and he was not about to lose now. Nails sank into his fur, but he battered the other buck away, twisted around and lunged. Another kick, another swipe of his paw and the other buck was down.

Two down, two… oh.

Twisting, he watched as Holmes finished off the last buck with a fantastic jump and a well-placed kick. Nice. Four bucks lying around, some moving more than others, but all defeated. Unfortunately, they were also starting to attract other attention. Not good attention.

“John.”

“Yeah,” he said, trying to catch his breath.

“Run.”

They both bolted. Darting away, they zipped back through the enemy territory and after a brief detour once they left it to make sure they lost any pursuers, arrived back at their cosy little home where they collapsed against each other, panting and then laughing.

“That was the most insane thing I have ever done,” he managed to say.

“And you fought a fox.”

He started laughing again. “Only a little one.”

Oh that felt good. He ached all over, but it was a good ache.

“Knew you could run if you put your mind to it.”

Hmmm? Run?

He looked down at his damaged leg, the one he was now leaning on, the one he had swiped one of the bucks out with, and then he had run on it. Of course he had run on it. There was no other way of running, and he had done a lot of running. Which meant it was better. He wasn’t a cripple any more.

“Oh my-”

“Exactly,” Holmes said, scratching behind his ear before collapsing in a heap. “You know what this means though.”

“What?”

“It means you can now do your share of the digging as well.”

He stared at the other rabbit and then he started to laugh again, and suddenly it was just the two of them, their new home and their brand new friendship.

*

“How exactly did you find me, anyway?”

Sherlock – because he most certainly was Sherlock now – had taken him to get food. Good food. Some of his favourites in fact, and all washed down by a much prized dandelion leaf.

He paused in his chewing.

“Oh,” he said after swallowing. “The one with the scar. Figured he must have picked up that scar out there rather than in here, which meant he was probably one of those you were looking for.”

“Good work,” Sherlock said.

“Do they really have a way out of here?” he asked.

“Not for long,” Sherlock said.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that, but that was alright. He’d probably find out sometime anyway, he just had to wait.

“Would you leave, you know, if you had the chance?” he asked instead.

Sherlock looked at him carefully as if trying to weigh up his answer. “Maybe,” he said.

“Why?” It was a perfectly valid question. It was nice in here. Safe. There was food and safety and friends. Out there was the wild, danger and apparently something called Moriarty.

“It would be an adventure,” Sherlock said.

“It would be dangerous,” he reminded. And he should know. He hadn’t been out there that long in the scheme of things and just look at what trouble he had managed to get himself into in that time.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Better with two though.”

There was a calculated almost hopeful look there. Was he being invited along? If Sherlock was mad enough to find a way out – and if there was a rabbit mad enough to both find a way out and to take it then Sherlock was it – did this mean he was being invited along? It looked like it, which was… nice. More than nice actually, especially considering how little time they had known each other, but still. Then again, would he actually go? Would he follow this mad skinny black buck out there into the big wide world?

“Always,” he finally said, and wiggling his nose he lay down with a contented smile.

*-*-*

The End


End file.
